


Being Human

by ie_heretic



Series: The Red Planet [4]
Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Anxiety Attacks, Childhood Memories, Culture Shock, Foreshadowing, Friendship, Gen, Male Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-11-15 02:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ie_heretic/pseuds/ie_heretic
Summary: Goten understands that, like him, Trunks has a little of both worlds in his blood. With time to kill on Earth, the third-class hybrid resolves to turn his best friend into a passable human, at least until they can return home. But the task becomes a daunting one when Trunks' inner conflict and Goten's struggles increasingly come to light, leaving Goten to question the future laid out before them.A companion short story to the series. The majority of it takes place between the end of book one and Prince of Slaves. Naturally, there will be spoilers for the former and also some foreshadowing to the latter. Told from Goten's perspective.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first short story I've made for the series, but it may not be the last. If you are completely new to this series you'll be missing some context, but once again I can't stop you from reading on if that's what you want to do. 
> 
> I was really curious to try writing something first-person from a different character's point of view, in addition to wanting to give detail to what went on between ADARB and POS. I was tossing around the idea of doing something from Vegeta's perspective, but eventually decided to stick with Goten (what exactly the King of Saiyans has been up to will be saved for POS and possibly a future short story). I did also consider Bulma, but I guess I'm biased/accustomed to writing from a male character's POV.
> 
> I initially had a set number of chapters planned out, but because of my university schedule the amount of time I have to write varies. So instead of getting 3/4 through a chapter and then having no time to finish it for weeks on end, I decided to upload shorter segments of what I do get done and hope for the best. 
> 
> Regardless, enjoy.

Once, I'd gotten a cloud for my birthday.  
  
Some of my earliest memories were of me lying in the grass, looking up and pretending like I could pinch the white tufts right out of the sky. Sometimes I'd be with Dad or Gohan and we'd spot shapes.  
  
Imagine my surprise as a little kid, Dad lifting me outside in his arms to show me the cloud he'd managed to catch for real. Except it wasn't pale and fluffy, it was a Nimbus – golden and silky and only those pure of heart could ride it.  
  
Some kids got bicycles, or skateboards, or scooters. I'd been perfectly happy with my magical clump of vapour and for a good while, that was how I got from place to place. I was too little to master flying with my ki, and I doubted my parents would've wanted me zipping around by myself anyway. (Nimbus, somehow, seemed to qualify as better supervision than none.)  
  
Then, one day, Dad took me to an endless desert with a sky the colour of blood, under the eye of a titanic orange sun and no clouds to see at all.  
  
Everything there seemed like a colossus to me. The towers loomed impossibly high overhead, silver as swords; the people were tall and steely and the fact that they looked like Dad and Gohan did nothing to reassure me. I'd clung to both their legs at first, forcing them to take shorter steps through the palace halls, but eventually I'd let go when we'd stopped in a room with pretty windows. They'd been made of colourful glass, adorning the highest part of the chamber and making the red-tinged light seem more gentle through them. I'd almost not noticed the strangers until they approached us.  
  
Neither of them were as tall as the rest of the people, but other than that the pair weren't similar. It was an old memory, but my first impressions stuck – the woman of the two looked like an angel from a storybook, except her hair was bright blue and her voice was loud and curious. The man was dark, tan skin and black hair and eyes that reminded me of a hunting panther.  
  
The woman was nice to me, greeting me and petting me with her pale hand like Mom would. The man just watched me, sometimes head-on but I felt like he was doing it from the corner of his eyes too. It made me feel uncomfortable until I noticed he watched everyone like that.  
  
When all the grownups were too busy talking to pay attention, I snuck away. I was nowhere near eye level so it was easy, and I'd always been good at sneaking. (In hide-and-seek, Dad would always let me win – Gohan always lost because he kept getting taller, barely getting used to his arms and legs before they'd grow again.)  
  
I didn't remember exactly where I was wandering to when guards finally took notice of me, demanding to know what 'some third-class whelp' wearing weird clothes was doing in the palace. Naturally I started to run, at least two soldiers now hot on my heels, but I couldn't remember which direction would lead me back to Dad and Gohan, unable to navigate the foreign hallways. Soon enough, the guards began catching up quickly, yelling curses at me.  
  
Desperate, I rounded a corner in haste – only to skid right to a stop to avoid a sudden object in my way, losing my footing on the smooth floor and smacking my head on it as I fell flat on my back.  
  
“Ow!” I whimpered, dizzily trying to focus on the thing that'd blocked my path. Except it wasn't a _thing_ at all.  
  
It was a person, a kid like me who had vibrant purple hair that looked a total mess and electric blue eyes that gawked at me in surprise.  
  
I started scrambling to my feet, remembering I was being chased.  
  
“Sorry for almost hitting you, but I don't got time! Those guys are trying to get me!” I explained quickly to the kid. I couldn't quite tell if they were a boy or a girl, not even by scent due to their age. They just kept staring, like they'd never seen another person before. (I'd learned later that he'd never met someone as young as him before.)  
  
“Can you help me hide?” I begged them, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I was scared of what the soldiers would do – Dad wasn't here, Gohan wasn't here, Mom wasn't here. I didn't know anybody. I was too young to die!  
  
“Saiyans don't run and hide,” the kid finally spoke, their expression becoming serious just as my pursuers rounded the corner and halted.  
  
“Y – Your Highness!” one of them exclaimed. “Our apologies for barging in and letting this third-class bother you. We thought you'd be with your father – allow us to escort you to him and get rid of this pest.”  
  
I thought it was awfully formal talk towards a kid my age, but the kid didn't seem bothered by it.  
  
“No,” the blue-eyed person stated.  
  
“Er, Your Highness?” one of the guards questioned.  
  
“I said no,” the kid repeated. “Are you deaf?” They glared with all the sternness someone so young could muster.  
  
“Uh, no, Your Highness. It's just that – with all due respect, perhaps your father wouldn't like you wandering without an attendant. And this trash certainly isn't the kind of company you want.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” the kid mused, thinking over their next words with a rub of their nose, “fuck off.”  
  
The guards hesitated in stunned surprise.  
  
“You heard me that time. Fuck off. Father won't be happy that you're such bad listeners,” the kid said.  
  
I gaped, stunned by their crass language. All the same, it seemed to get the guards moving, because with one last look to me, they bowed before turning to walk away with stiff postures and scowls.  
  
There was a long moment of silence while the kid and I turned to look at each other.  
  
“You said a bad word,” I blurted. “You're not supposed to say bad words.”  
  
“And you weren't supposed to be here. But I said it's okay, and I also say I can talk however I want,” they retorted.  
  
I pursed my lips in thought. “Is it because they kept calling you 'Your Highness'?”  
  
“My father's the king.”  
  
“Ohhhhh.” My eyes widened. “That means... are you a princess?”  
  
I'd only taken a guess at their gender, judging by their long hair and kind of pretty face, but I knew I'd guessed wrong when _he_ scowled and crossed his arms.  
  
“I'm a boy! I'm Prince Trunks, of all the Saiyans! Even you, No-Tail!” he declared.  
  
“Trunks? That's a weird name. And you don't have a tail either,” I said.  
  
He put his hands on his hips and pouted. “Oh yeah? Well, what's _your_ name then if it's so great?”  
  
Since Mom had taught me to be polite, even to upset people, I stuck out my hand so he could shake it. “I'm Goten. Son Goten. I'm four.”  
  
“Four what?” he asked, giving my hand a weird look so I pulled it back.  
  
“Oh. I never thought about it. I'm just four. But I was three a little while ago, so that's gotta mean something,” I said. I knew the number went up when people counted a new birthday party, but that was it.  
  
“Hm. Well then, what are you doing in my palace? Your clothes and the way you talk mean you're not from here.”  
  
“My dad brought me here. This whole place is yours?”  
  
He grinned proudly. “Uh, yeah, duh. I'm the prince. If it's Father's, then it's mine. The rest of the planet is mine too. We share it with everybody else.”  
  
“You own _all_ of it?” I gasped. “That sure is nice of you to share. You must build lotsa sandcastles. I'm little so I only got my Nimbus and my stuffed dino. But I don't have those here, so... I don't have nothing to share back.”  
  
“Oh. That's okay, you don't need to. You are kind of little, though.” Trunks was barely bigger than me, but he seemed like he knew what he was doing so I didn't argue. “Can you spar?”  
  
“Can I spar?” I echoed.  
  
“Yeah, spar. Like this.” Before I could blink, he'd dropped into a stance kinda like Dad's before whacking me in the arm with a punch, lightning fast.  
  
“Ow! What was that for?” I squeaked, rubbing the stinging spot. He looked as confused as I felt, and a little shocked at my reaction.  
  
“Y - ... You're supposed to block it,” he tried to explain.  
  
“But I wasn't ready! You can't just hit people!” At this point I was pretty rattled, after being chased and falling and now my arm hurt too. My eyes were watering from the pain.  
  
“W – wait, don't get upset!” Trunks started to plead. “Please don't get mad at me. I've never met another kid and I just wanted to play. You can hit me back if you want.”  
  
I met his bright blue eyes, seeing genuine concern in them. But before I could answer, my keen ears caught the sound of a familiar voice calling my name. And another voice, calling for Trunks.  
  
The two of us followed the voices, walking out from our retreated hallway to see my dad, Gohan, and the two strangers coming towards us.  
  
“Oh! What are the chances? They've already met!” the blue-haired lady said with a beaming smile. “Although, I guess it technically isn't their first time meeting.”  
  
“What've you guys been up to over here? You darted off as soon as I looked away, Goten,” Dad said.  
  
“He was being chased by the guards,” Trunks explained. “They didn't know he was supposed to be here so I told them to fuck off.”  
  
Gohan nearly choked upon hearing the profanity and the blue-haired woman gasped.  
  
“What? Trunks! That is no way for a prince to speak, especially in front of his mother!” she reprimanded.  
  
It suddenly clicked, then – the two strangers were his _parents_ . I could see the resemblance a little, now that I looked.  
  
As Trunks got chastised, I was reminded by the gentle throbbing on my skull (which hurt worse than the fading pain on my arm) that I'd fallen. Mom would usually kiss it better, but she wasn't here. Trunks' Mom was here though, which made me think... Since _my_ mom was the one who cleaned the floors, his mom must have too.  
  
I'd thought it would be a good idea to mention that she'd used too much soap to make them that slippery. Other people could fall and get hurt.  
  
“Excuse me,” I began politely, “but do you clean the floors? You made them too slid-y and I fell down while I was running. Also, I think I might need a band-aid for the bruises, if that's okay.”  
  
Everyone was quiet for a second. Then, Trunks' Mom burst out laughing, quickly followed by everyone but his father.  
  
“No, she does _not_ clean the floors,” he hissed at me. “The Queen takes no part in menial servant labour.”  
  
“Oh, come on Vegeta,” Trunks' mom placated. “How can you be mad at _that_ face? I hope you're not hurt, Goten!”  
  
I was left kind of confused, but Dad scooped me up so I let my thoughts simmer into a relaxed state. Trunks, however, was left standing on the ground, having ambled over to his father's side.  
  
But the man didn't pick him up. Nor did he give Trunks more than a glance. The young prince waited, not even close enough to touch his father, looking a little perplexed when Gohan moved over to check the back of my head for marks as Dad held me.  
  
Trunks was the one who eventually taught me how to fly without Nimbus – but I didn't remember much else from those earliest days.  
  


* * *

  
  
It was snowing gently outside and I sat bundled up by the fireplace, ignoring the mild itch of Mom's handmade wool blanket in return for the comfort.  
  
Excluding how long we'd spent in the Time Chamber, it'd only been a week or so since I'd come back from the dead. We'd waited a few days before Trunks went in, and then a little under two days in regular time had passed while I'd swapped with Gohan to train, and it was the day before yesterday that Dad and me had come home again.  
  
Having spent so much time growing my strength nearly twenty-four seven, it felt a little weird being home and just... relaxing. But it wasn't only that either that gave me the sensation of being out of place.  
  
For one, I'd grown. Quite a bit, if my clothes no longer fitting me was any solid indication. I guessed that Trunks would be in a similar boat, although most of what he'd gained was muscle weight and not height. We'd been roughly the same size for our teen years, but by the time we'd finished our training that had changed. He was five-eight or so now – an achievement in itself, considering him and his grandma were his only family over Mom's size – to my five-eleven and it was fun to needle him about finally being the smaller one.  
  
Of course, such physical changes meant my shirts were too tight and my pants too short, so I was currently borrowing some of Dad's clothes which were the closest things we had. What had really felt surreal was hugging Mom hello and finding that she only came up to my chest.  
  
Mom – she was definitely one of the weird things about coming back. She was being so gentle, hardly even asking me to do any chores, making me all my favourite foods. _Everyone_ was being kinder than normal, like they were scared I'd break apart. Dad had been his usual self until Mom and Gohan spread whatever it was to him.  
  
I knew it was about my death. Obviously. But it wasn't like any of them were gonna touch that topic with a fifty-foot pole. I knew Gohan eventually might, but since it'd been a few years since he'd lived with us, I didn't have to suffer the elephant in the room from him too until he inevitably visited.  
  
With my hair cut short, I'd walked by the mirror and almost thought it was him.  
  
Stretching out my legs, I shifted the blanket on my shoulders and reached into my pocket. Pulling out my cell, I turned it on and went straight to my contacts, searching for the new number Bulma had given me yesterday. I wasn't even sure the owner of said number knew how phones worked, but I figured he could start learning now.  
  
Punching in a quick message, I hit 'send' and awaited its delivery.  
  
> _Whats up? How do you like ur new phone  
  
_ After a long minute or two, I started to wonder if he was going to answer when my phone pinged and I read his response.  
  
> _Buttuons too fucvkn smqll  
  
_ I laughed to myself, formulating a reply.  
  
_ > LOL. Dont break the phone u will get used to it.. What r u up to right now. Its snowing here  
  
_ He answered more quickly this time, and our greetings evolved into our typical banter.  
  
_ > Wth mom and shwwing me how to work phonee. Raining here  
  
> Sucks for u. Although I guess u like the rain more than most ppl. _  
  
_ > Thee rain back home isn't fuckin cld. Is earth always this cold or am I just lucky??  
  
> Its winter in this hemisphere rn. Earth has lots of different climates but when spring comes capsule corp will warm up. Ask ur mom  
  
> She said the sme thing. Why is this a touch screen if I cant touch the right buttons? I wouldnt be surprised if getting this phone was your idea.  
  
> Most people on earth have a phone Trunks. Ur the odd one out if you dont.  
  
_ He took longer to answer this time.  
  
_ > I'm already the odd one out. My mom wants to know if you would come with us to get new clothes. You probably need some too and she said she will get them for you.  
  
_ I assumed the other reason Bulma had invited me was because Trunks hadn't really been anywhere on Earth yet. Regardless of how much he already knew about the planet, there wasn't any way to avoid the social adjustment he'd need, and I was one of the best people to help with that. Letting Trunks loose on his own would no doubt result in misunderstandings – and not the safe kind. A short-tempered half Saiyan used to being respected as a warrior prince wouldn't even be able to handle public transit.  
  
I stood up, massaging the stiffness from my legs. If I could get Dad to teleport me to Capsule Corp, I wouldn't have to fly there through the snowfall. I tapped out a quick response to let Trunks know I was on my way.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
I wasn't used to seeing my best friend in, well, _normal_ clothes. Of course, they weren't anything special – no doubt it was just whatever the Briefs had in his size – but that didn't make it any less weird. What little not-military-issued clothing existed on Planet Vegeta was only a sort of tunic that mostly children, or the few Saiyans who weren't fighters, wore; it didn't fit with anything modern on Earth. So seeing Trunks in jeans and a sweater made things feel a bit out of place.  
  
Bulma, too, was a little strange to see in this environment. She had sometimes worn Earth clothes on Planet Vegeta, but right now the only remnant of the place showing was her earrings. (The gemstones in them were Saiyan crystals, which Vegeta had given her as a gift – she'd then fashioned the mineral into jewelry herself, as there were few Saiyans capable of working with such precise tools.)  
  
Both Trunks' mom and his grandma had come with us, with the latter chattering away from the driver's seat. Bulla was asleep, so she'd stayed at Capsule Corp with her adoptive father Tarble while our group left.  
  
Once we were all settled in, Panchy fired up the vehicle (a black sedan that was clearly the most expensive thing I'd probably ever touched) and Bulma reminded everyone to put on their safety belts. A seemingly innocent request fell into a debate about _why_ Trunks even needed to wear one, which I helped him win. His mother had mumbled something about 'not paying the ticket' and for the rest of the drive, Trunks had stared out the window enraptured by the view.  
  
Once we arrived, Bulma was already giving out more instructions as we exited the car. This time though, they were about a different kind of safety.  
  
“Okay, Trunks,” she started, gently grabbing his arm to gain his attention. “So I know I went over some of this with you already, and you might've noticed some of it yourself. But I think it's important I remind you that humans aren't quite like Saiyans. Most passerby will completely ignore you unless you do something to attract attention. I know you're used to people acknowledging you, but just remember that you stand out less here than you do back home. The bonus is that no one is going to think less of you for your appearance. If nobody looks too closely, you're a very passable human.”  
  
“Glad to know,” he said. I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic.  
  
“Oh! And one more thing. For the love of god, don't call anyone a servant. There aren't any servants here – and _definitely_ no slaves. The people who help you when you want to buy or do something are employees,” Bulma warned.  
  
“Mom, I already know most of this,” Trunks defended. “You don't have to worry about me so much. Besides, if I do make a mistake, I can just pretend I suddenly no longer know how to speak the language.”  
  
“Hey, that's sounds like a 'me' idea,” I said, chuckling as Bulma smiled.  
  
Trunks spoke our language perfectly, but occasionally he'd just forget to and start chatting away in Standard or even native Saiyan, like he was used to. Though now that he was on our planet, speaking our tongue, his accent had become more noticeable. It wasn't that strong, really – it was the same as his father's and other upper class people in space – but most Earth residents sounded like Bulma and Gohan did (my brother tried hard to disguise his birth accent). I had the same drawl as my parents, but less obvious.  
  
Trunks' grandma, Panchy, laughed politely as she began ushering us along, unfazed at the concept of orienting her half-alien grandson to Earth culture. There was very little that _could_ faze her, or Dr. Briefs for that matter. Being around Panchy was starting to make me miss Gine, but I wasn't sure if she'd still be on Planet Vegeta or not, after we'd warned her things could get dangerous. Dad was the best of us at sensing energy, but even he could only reach so far, so we had no way of knowing.  
  
The four of us proceeded, moving away from the parking lot towards the mall across it. It was a weekend so despite the drizzle people were out and about. Once we passed through the doorways it became evident, entering into the crowd of noise and colour within the shopping district.  
  
Truth be told, I'd never been to this mall. The racket was noticeable on my sensitive hearing, but tolerable, though I didn't doubt my ears would be ringing once we left. Our group was moving slowly but surely, enough that Trunks could soak in his surroundings. He was already looking around, eyes glancing from place to place.  
  
“There's a lot of women walking around,” he noted as his first big observation.  
  
“Yep. That dating pool that you aren't interested in is much bigger here,” I joked. Naturally, I was referring to the fact that Trunks never seemed interested in having a partner at all, not even a 'friends with benefits' type of girl (he was the prince, so he could step outside the Saiyan norm of only casual sex and have a long-time companion, if he wanted). But Panchy took my statement the wrong way.  
  
“Well, there's lots of nice young men in this city too. It's always the cute ones,” she cooed.  
  
Trunks was still gazing around, so he didn't notice his grandmother's comment. Not that he would've cared; on Planet Vegeta nobody cared whether you liked men or women or both, as long as you were an adult. The marker for adulthood on Planet Vegeta was sixteen in Earth years, almost seventeen, and it was taboo for a Saiyan any younger to go beyond a platonic relationship.  
  
“Ha, it's not like _that_ ,” I corrected. “What I meant was that he might as well be a nun.”  
  
“What the hell is a nun?” Trunks asked, turning to look at me. He was probably at attention just in case he needed to start one of our verbal sparring matches.  
  
“This is the one,” Bulma suddenly interjected. “This store here. Gods, it's been ages since I was last here.”  
  
I peeked at the name of the shop, my step faltering. It looked expensive. Very expensive. _I guess I shouldn't be surprised._  
  
“The men's clothes are over here,” Bulma said as she pointed the way while we entered.  
  
“Um, are you sure about this place? I mean, I'm fine with whatever fits me,” I said, but she shook her head and reassured me.  
  
Trunks and me then found ourselves wandering through the racks of clothes. I didn't dare look at the price tags for fear of intimidating myself (Trunks didn't have a very good concept yet for how much zeni were worth, so the cost wouldn't mean anything to him), just grabbing several items in my size and helping Trunks. Out of my whole family I was really the only person who had anything remotely close to a fashion sense, so I gave my best friend a few tips on what fits, colours, or textures would suit him.  
  
“I don't think I've ever seen so many different options in my life,” he replied, taking whatever garments I suggested. “And I have to try them all on?”  
  
“Well, yeah. I mean, certain things will fit certain body types, so it's best to make sure. 'Specially if you have amazing quads like me, finding the right jeans can be a real pain in the ass,” I jested. “Although you could always go with sweatpants, which are comfortable enough to justify how not-classy they are. But you can train in them.”  
  
“That's great news. After a year and a half training every day I'd love to train some more.”  
  
“Something in me says that you're being serious.”  
  
He cracked a grin, the same mischievous one I was so familiar with. Unlike his father, Trunks let himself smile when he genuinely felt happy. Or amused. Or like being difficult. I couldn't count how many times he'd made that face as a kid right before dragging us both into trouble. (Not that we ever respected the attempted grounding that was sure to follow from his mother.)  
  
As we left to our respective change-rooms, my thoughts stayed wandering through my memories, through my childhood and the parts of it I shared with Trunks. When I was younger I'd used to feel pretty incompetent in comparison to him, like the 'second choice' of our duo. He was smart, strong, stupidly wealthy, and also just so happened to inherit the most attractive parts of his parents' features. I was some ungainly, third-class hick who didn't even have redeeming intelligence like Gohan. Though I was always proud that I at least knew how to fight. And it wasn't like _Trunks_ was perfect, as I'd quickly discovered; his life was far from being all sunshine and roses.  
  
His relationship with his father was complicated, to say the least. Trunks had always lived with the pressure of his station and the expectations that came with it, and he'd grown up in a culture where some of the most ordinary human emotions were taboo. And despite the veneer he tried to keep, he was very human. He was as flawed as anyone: stubborn, perfectionistic, and had a hot temper that just the wrong thing could set off. He had a good heart, but didn't quite know how to reconcile it with the worldview he'd been raised with – it certainly didn't help that he'd been called a freak of nature just for being born a half-blood. In order to prove himself, he would refuse to share responsibilities or burdens, risking harm to himself or other people in the process. He would lie to protect his or his loved ones' feelings.  
  
But he was my best friend. Sure, we made harmless fun of each other, but he never put me down for my real faults or issues. He listened to me when I needed someone to listen; we told one another almost everything. He didn't care about my social status, he responded to even my dumbest jokes, and he never treated me like I was nobody.  
  
I never felt invisible with him there. And though they tried, my family wasn't always the same way.  
  
Since I was done trying on the clothes I'd brought with me and Trunks had a lot more stuff to go through, I decided to put back what I didn't want while I waited (even though it wasn't necessary, Mom had always taught me to). Some of the clothes were so fucking expensive I hadn't even put them on, despite that Bulma had said it didn't matter. And I _knew_ it didn't – the Briefs were one of the wealthiest people on Earth – but I could barely bring myself to take what I needed. It almost made me miss being able to walk around in simple armour.  
  
I left the change-room and turned when something walked right into me with an _oof_ of surprise and a hint of fragrance, causing me to snake my free arm around them to keep them from tumbling to the floor.  
  
“Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you! Are you okay?” I blurted, meeting with – with a pair of soft, honey coloured eyes that focused on me in surprise.  
  
“Yeah, I'm okay,” the girl said dizzily, regaining her balance. She was pretty and pale, with glossy auburn hair and a slender figure, wearing jewelry I had no doubt was real gold. I then noticed she'd dropped what she'd been carrying during our collision.  
  
“I really am sorry,” I said as I bent down to pick up the fallen clothes. I straightened and held them out to her.  
  
“Oh, no no, I mean, it's really my fault. I'm, like, so clumsy sometimes.” Focus returning, her eyes went from my chest to my face. Like a flick of a switch, she seemed to remember I was still offering her dropped items back and gently took them, blushing a little from embarrassment.  
  
“You're not hurt, are you? Though I'm sure I could pay off the lawsuit with the prices of these clothes,” I joked.  
  
She laughed, delicately tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you for asking.” She paused. “You, um, I've never seen you in here before. This place has a pretty devoted clientele.”  
  
“I, uh, don't usually shop here. I'm with a friend who just moved here from another country.”  
  
“Oh. That's nice of you. You don't sound like you're from the city, either.”  
  
“I'm from the countryside, up in the mountains. It snows eight months of the year and rains the other four, so the change of scenery here really doesn't hurt.”  
  
She laughed again. “I can imagine. I've only ever been to a mountain for, like, a skiing vacation. I'm bad at it though. Do you know any winter sports, living up there?”  
  
“If being good at getting hit with snowballs is a winter sport, then yes. I'm actually more of a martial arts guy.”  
  
“No kidding – I mean, yeah, that's cool. Martial arts is kung fu, right?”  
  
I didn't get a chance to answer when I felt Trunks' presence behind me, accompanied by his voice.  
  
“Sorry I took so long. You were right about the pants, but you forgot to mention the part where I now smell like fucking chemicals from touching them all. I swear to the gods, this is the most tedious – oh,” he said, cutting himself off once he approached my side and noticed the girl.  
  
She blushed and gave a shy hello, to which Trunks returned a casual greeting out of politeness before turning his attention back to me.  
  
“We should go find my mom and Grandma. We've been long enough already,” he continued.  
  
“Okay,” I agreed after a second, since my friend was clearly itching to get a move-on. I looked back at the girl. “I'd better get going, but it was nice to meet you. I guess I'll see you around, um...”  
  
“Valese,” she said. “It was nice to meet you.”  
  


* * *

  
  
It wasn't long until we finished our purchases and were walking out of yet another store, through the back entrance that led us outside.  
  
Trunks was clearly already bored with the shopping, even though we'd only been to a few outlets so far. He seemed to prefer just looking around at the people going by, even though there wasn't much of a crowd outdoors here though the rain had stopped. I was a little miffed that he'd interrupted my earlier conversation with that pretty girl, Valese – but then again, pretty girls was one of the few things I was better at then him.  
  
“So, where should we head next?” Panchy asked. “There's so many more places we could look for clothes. Or we could shop for something else, or just browse around and see the sights.”  
  
“We could go for food too, to make the shopping a little more bearable,” Bulma said lightly.  
  
I thought food sounded good – _when doesn't it?_ \- but the lack of any opinion from Trunks' direction made me turn around to look, making sure he was still following us.  
  
He wasn't. He was frozen a short distance back, staring off at something with a perplexed look on his face.  
  
“What is it, hon?” Bulma said, noticing her son's confusion as we walked back to where he stood.  
  
“They're holding hands,” he replied.  
  
I followed his gaze. Sure enough, a couple was standing by a display, fingers interlocked and shoulders nearly touching. There wasn't anything particularly weird about it to me, but...  
  
I knew Trunks had held his sister's hand before, but this wasn't the same thing – here was a couple, in love, brazenly showing affection in public. Or at least, that was how it would seem to Trunks. Falling in love on Planet Vegeta meant you were the oddball of society, though some exceptions were given to royalty, who were often expected to have one partner for a long period of time. And even if Bulma and Vegeta loved each other, I'd never seen _them_ hold hands. To Trunks, what we were looking at was like seeing a woman walking around topless (ironic, considering Saiyans didn't care whether women wore shirts or not).  
  
“Oh. Yeah. People hold hands and stuff here in public,” I started to explain.  
  
“I know it seems weird to you, but like Goten said, it's normal. Please don't stare,” Bulma elaborated.  
  
“But it's so...” Trunks looked back at us, trying to come up with the right words through his creeping embarrassment. “Intimate. Everyone can see them.”  
  
To my surprise, Bulma laughed. “You know you're adorable sometimes, right? It's just holding hands, you silly boy.” She then grinned knavishly. “Could you imagine if people hugged in public? Like _this_ ?”  
  
She moved forward, tightly wrapping her arms around her son. “Gotcha.”  
  
“H – hey! Mom!” Trunks scolded, flushing a deeper shade of red. “Are you serious?”  
  
“Look how improper this is. Hugging my precious son where everyone can see me! What are they going to do, call the prude police?” Bulma teased.  
  
Trunks was clearly pouting, but he put an arm reluctantly around his mother in return.  
  
Panchy beamed, watching the scene for a moment before joining in to hug her grandson's free arm, seeing as his midsection was taken.  
  
“Not you too,” he muttered as the two women giggled at him.  
  
I put down our bags and walked over to my friend.  
  
“Don't you dare,” he threatened uselessly at me before I put my arms around his shoulders.  
  
“Gonna have to get used to it, if you're gonna learn how to be a human,” I said. He didn't reply to that, attempting to scowl indignantly and failing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that Valese is a GT-only character, but I figured that since her role in it doesn't really have anything to do with the main plot, nobody would care if I used her here. (Also, if you caught the tiny TFS reference, forgive me. I couldn't resist and I'm not sure how anyone else does when the abridged series is pure gold.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for this chapter – there is a vivid description of an anxiety attack, so please proceed with caution if this kind of thing is hard for you to read.

_He was stronger than me – so much stronger._ _  
_

_I'd walked into the Time Chamber, thinking it would be like before. Like Trunks and me were the same, two sides of a coin like the years of our partnership had made us into. How things had been before I'd died._  
  
_I wasn't that we weren't friends the way we'd use to be. We'd greeted each other like normal, me happy to see that Trunks was happy and that he'd put weight back on. (When he was upset, he had a tendency to not eat, which I knew he'd been succumbing to based on how he'd felt hugging me after I was resurrected.) Dad seemed like he always did too, in his natural element with constant training._  
  
_Gohan had been off from his usual self. What he'd said to me, just before I'd come in, floated around in the back of my head._  
  
_'Be careful.'_  
  
_I hadn't been sure if he was talking about being careful around Trunks, or being careful trying to increase my own strength, but I'd taken my cautious brother's advice with a pinch of salt. Because it was Gohan, and he always tried to mother me like I was still a little kid. He was overbearingly protective sometimes._  
  
_So that was why I entirely ignored his advice and demanded that Trunks show me his new transformation, mere minutes after being in the Time Chamber._  
  
_“We're going to be in here a while,” he replied. “We don't have to start there.”_  
  
_“I want to see how strong you really are now. Besides, I'd rather not be kept in suspense,” I continued._  
  
_Trunks pursed his lips. “Alright. But I don't have one hundred percent control over it yet, so...”_  
  
_“Yeah yeah. I'll remember the safe word, shall I?”_  
  
_My friend sighed and rub the bridge of his nose. I laughed at him._  
  
_It wasn't long after that Dad had seated himself on the sidelines, or rather, the steps of the building that housed our beds and supplies. Trunks and I faced off just far enough away that Dad could see us, but we could decrease the risk of any stray attacks hitting the building._  
  
_“Ready?” Trunks said. I nodded, bracing myself but not yet moving into a fighting stance._  
  
_My friend set himself as well, placing his feet shoulder-width apart and curling his hands into fists at chest level. Closing his eyes, he began to focus._  
  
_Energy thrummed through the air and the ground started to shudder beneath me. Trunks' hair drifted from his shoulders and burst into golden flame, but he wasn't there yet – his power continued to climb from the level of a Super Saiyan, the tremors becoming full-blown quakes._  
  
_And then his ki spiked, washing over me like a tidal wave and a pair of steely, teal eyes were locked on me._  
  
_His aura wasn't tainted like Broly's had been, but it blazed with the same indomitable presence – though much bigger. Threads of electricity sizzled in the air around Trunks; even the physical tendons of his arms seemed more defined._  
  
_It was him, yet it wasn't. A version of himself like sunlight focused into fire through a magnifying glass, or a recast blade still glowing as it was pulled from the forgery. Becoming a Super Saiyan had seemed like a triumph, until now that I saw it was a drop of water in an ocean of our own potential. His potential._  
  
_I wasn't afraid. I wasn't. But I couldn't barely wrap my head around the fact that he was_ so much stronger than me from a single event _. He'd broken through the impossible, while I – I'd –_  
  
_“Let's go!” Trunks declared out of nowhere, shifting into a stance and pulling me from my reverie._  
  
_“H – hey, wait a sec -”_  
  
_I never got to finish before he was suddenly right in front of me, causing me to avoid the blow thrown at my head by a hair's breadth._  
  
_Thinking quickly, I activated my transformation like a paltry shadow, swinging a punch that whistled through emptiness and then I was leaping into the air to again avoid a blow that smashed into where I'd just been standing._  
  
_The difference between us was brutal. I'd never been the strongest Super Saiyan, but even within seconds of our spar beginning I noticed Trunks trying to slow himself down to make the match worthwhile. His punches and kicks that didn't manage to scrape by me felt like an impossible blow each time, and I wasn't the kind of guy who couldn't take a hit._  
  
_I could see my friend struggling with the adrenaline rush, simultaneously trying to goad me to fight harder but also to not get carried away. My adrenaline was pumping too, but I felt uncoordinated – sloppy. Losing ground, rapidly._  
  
_When I got lucky a moment later and my knuckles struck him square in the chest, he reacted like he couldn't even feel it, grabbing my arm and twisting it the wrong way while knocking my legs out from under me._  
  
_Before I could blink, I was flat on my face with his knee pressing into my spine as he kept my arm strained almost to the point of dislocating it._  
  
_There was no way I was going to let myself give in after only a few minutes of fighting, regardless of how obviously outclassed I was. I tried to get out of the hold. It did me no good; any wiggle-room there had ever been while sparring him before was gone. It felt like I was struggling against something that weighed a few thousand tonnes more than someone Trunks' size should have. Someone who felt like they were trying to pull my shoulder right out of its socket._  
  
_My ki dropped dramatically as I lost hold of Super Saiyan and I was sure now my arm was about to break. But in that same instant, I heard a whoosh of air and Dad's voice -_  
  
_“Tag in!” he piped excitedly, and suddenly the weight on me was gone as Dad took my place in the match, him and Trunks moving away so that I had space to recover._  
  
_I rolled onto my back, catching a glimpse of the two combatants. Trunks' expression was concentrated, while Dad seemed to be having the time of his life despite his ki clearly being weaker than my best friend's._  
  
_I let my head return to resting on the floor, accepting the now present ache in my shoulder socket and elbow tendon._  
  
_The three of us continued sparring on and off throughout the hours, pausing only to eat or relieve ourselves. By the time the clock revealed it was nighttime (though the lighting in the Chamber outside was constant) we were spent anyway, taking turns to shower off and fall asleep one by one._  
  
_Despite it being bright outdoors, we were able to dim the lights inside the building if we wished. As I was the last to use the shower, the sleeping quarters were already dark by the time I'd crossed them to use the washing area. Thankfully, there was a door both for better privacy and to avoid disturbing anyone with whatever noise I might make._  
  
_The hot water felt relieving on my head and shoulders, although it made my new bruises feel a bit tender. I poked one of the ones on my ribs to assess it, winced, and then decided it wasn't too bad and moved on to wash my hair._  
  
_Since there was an infinite amount of any water temperature, I could stand under it for as long as I wanted. It was an interesting contrast to the steel barrel my family had for years used as an outdoor bathtub, kept at the side of the house. The water had to be heated separately and poured in, and in wintertime it was never fun running to it without much on (sometimes through the snow). I'd been little at the time so Mom or Dad would usually come out when I was done and bundle me up in towels to whisk me back inside._  
  
_By the time I was eight we'd installed a proper shower, but the memory still lingered. On Planet Vegeta, only the elites or very lucky lower classes had access to water for cleaning purposes, so most people just used soaps you put on dry. I'd seen the stuff once or twice and it'd been enough to make me grateful._  
  
_I finally turned off the shower, grabbing a towel to tousle it through my hair before moving to dry the rest of me. Upon passing the mirror to grab my fresh change of sleeping clothes, I paused to meet the plain brown eyes reflected in it._  
  
_There were bruises going up and down my torso, nothing I'd never seen before. A few on my legs, one a little too low on my stomach for comfort, and – as I turned a bit – several large ones dotting my back._  
  
_I supposed I'd had worse. A lot worse. Realistically, my current state wasn't that terrible, but it was just another indication of my shortcomings._  
  
_I started dressing, then stopped halfway to sit down on the rim of the bathtub. Everything was quiet. A drop of water or two fell from my bangs._  
  
_Could Trunks really have gotten so far ahead of me?_  
  
_Him, my brother, or Dad were always a step or two beyond my level. That didn't make me a quitter. It's just that it wasn't necessary for me to compete so hard to be better than them._  
  
_If there was any danger, they were enough – it was obvious that with what had happened, my presence had made no difference. Maybe if Dad had been there too, things might've been different. But that didn't matter now. Even my brother who almost never trained had done his part and survived, but it was clearly my best friend who'd won the day._  
  
_Trunks had refused to fall, despite his broken bones, despite being impaled with his own sword. Even before that when he'd been taking on Broly alone, my friend had been covered in blood and losing and still, still fighting with his every drawn breath._  
  
_And before that too – he'd even stood up against his father, someone whose approval he valued more than anything. Trunks was strong, and brave, and I'd daresay he could even be noble sometimes, but I wouldn't say that much praise to his face._  
  
_I wasn't like him, though._  
  
_It wasn't that I lacked qualities. I was sure if I asked someone, they'd find one in me somewhere. But I knew I wasn't like him. Not smart or thoughtful like Gohan, either. Not brilliant like Bulma, not carefree like Dad, not even indomitable like Vegeta._  
  
_Mom had really wanted to get Gohan right, and I supposed she had. But then I'd come along and there hadn't been enough room left between my brother and the top so she'd agreed to let me fight, agreed to let me spend half my life on a desert rock with a boy she barely knew because it was better than nothing._  
  
_Yet whatever I had to show for it was lost in the fact that some days, I got called my brother's or my dad's name more than my own._  
  
_I rested my elbows on my knees, palms against my temples. The room was starting to feel hot and close, like it was pressing in on me. My breathing felt constricted, chest tight. It hurt._  
  
_The night I died had been the one where I was needed. Had to save Trunks, had to protect Bulma. Instead, watched her die, and then watched what I thought was Trunks dying, and then I'd felt my own heart stop beating._  
  
_I slid to my knees on the floor. Pins and needles were buzzing in my arms and legs. Each breath felt like not enough, I couldn't take in more than quick gasps and my vision was tunnelling and my chest hurt, I didn't know why my chest hurt and_ gods, oh gods I'm having a heart attack and I'm sixteen and that doesn't make any sense but I'm dying, I'm going to die.  
  
_My hands were braced against the icy shock of the floor, my stomach swam and I didn't know if I was going to throw up or pass out or whether I should call for help. At that last thought, I was quickly struck with a shame so vivid at being seen this way that it robbed me of what little air I had remaining so I curled up on the tiles, trying to get a fix on anything that would make my body stop._  
  
  


* * *

  
  
I woke up drenched in sweat.  
  
It took me a moment to place myself, to recognize that the instant chill on my exposed skin was from the negative temperature of the snow outside, seeping through the house.  
  
The hot, shallow prickle from perspiring mixed with the numb cold of winter felt a lot like fear, but I wasn't afraid.  
  
My parents' energies slept quiet a few rooms away. They hadn't noticed me. They hadn't noticed me the last few times, either, and I hadn't brought it to their attention. I wouldn't have known what to tell them, anyway.  
  
This was the third time in a week my body had woken me up, ready to fight or fly, tugging my mind along with it as I'd race to figure out where the enemy was, how close the danger was that my instincts were reacting to but that I couldn't seem to find anywhere.  
  
I sat up and pulled the blanket over my shoulders and around my head so that I wouldn't rapidly start to freeze. The clouds covered the moon outside so no light shone in through my window, only the dim outline of my bedroom furniture visible in the night. It would be hours until dawn, hours that I'd have to wait out staring into nothing because it was damn near impossible to go back to sleep like this.  
  
“What's wrong with me?” I whispered, as if the darkness had an answer.


End file.
